


All That I’ve Got

by Anonymous



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recovery, Recreational Drug Use, Relapse, Therapist Sam Wilson, Therapy, Underage Drug Use, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It really was just weed, at first.Then he tried the Klonopin.This was the beginning of a very long road for Peter Parker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh kinda graphic, sort of triggered myself while writing it, but it’s cool. just HEED THE TAGS

It really was just weed, at first. 

He overheard a couple guys at school planning a deal, and they gave him a couple of free edibles for his silence.

The first time, he ate too much of it and was so stoned he blacked out. They never told him it was going to take an hour to kick in, so he ate nearly half the fruity pebbles cereal bar before he decided he’d had enough. 

He was sitting on the couch with May when it hit. He didn’t even realize it had until she was talking to him and he could barely keep track of her words. He said he was going to lay down, and he did. He got to his bedroom and lay down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, mind so askew that his thoughts were looping over and over and over and-

Then came the numb. The total numb. Any lingering pains he still had from the previous night’s patrol were gone, just like that. His body tingled and he felt separate. He felt like he’d never been crushed by a building, like he’d never been in a plane crash, like pain- feeling, in general- was foreign. 

He lost four hours of time. Crazy, right? How it can be three in the afternoon and suddenly it’s nearly seven. All because of some weed. 

When he sobered up, he told himself that he would never do that again, that the feeling of his thoughts spiraling like they had was too scary to repeat. He promised himself he’d never do it, ever again. 

It only took twenty-four hours to break that promise. 

Homework, studying, patrol, nightmares- it was all too much. So what if he finished the edible little by little, figuring out the exact amount he needed in order to get the perfect high? A high mild enough that he could still function, go to school, even, but severe enough to dull the pain, emotional and physical. 

He went back to the people who gave it to him in the first place, requesting more. Ten dollars a gram, they said, because there were no more edibles left. He gave them twenty dollars, plus enough to buy a bowl to smoke it from. Three days later, they delivered. 

The boy was high nearly every day for the next few months. Every day, in school and out of school. He knew he could stop whenever he wanted, but he wasn’t hurting anyone by doing it, so he didn’t see why he shouldn’t. 

One day, the anxiety got to be too much. He was in between deals right now and didn’t have any weed. He dug in his desk drawer to find the anxiety medicine Mr. Stark had concocted for him, perfect for his metabolism. Klonopin on steroids, basically. He looked at the bottle, which said to take one pill. He took two. An hour passed and he was still having trouble breathing, mind racing, so he took a third. He went on his phone to distract himself, considering texting Ned because he couldn’t do this, not right now; he couldn’t-

Suddenly, it all just... _stopped_. 

He put his phone down. The floor was swaying a bit, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Objects in the room were blurry and brightly outlined, but his head was  _silent_ . It was completely silent, as if everything wrong in his life, everything wrong with him, ceased to exist. 

It was accidental, the high, but he liked it. 

This was the beginning of a long road for Peter Parker. 

That night, he slept like a baby. Knocked out, no nightmares, just deep sleep. He woke up twelve hours later, thankful it was a Saturday, and groggily went about his day. 

It was truly an accident. He didn’t mean to get high off his anxiety medicine, and he knew he was breaking Mr. Stark’s trust by doing so. Just like with the weed, he promised himself he’d never do it again. Weed was one thing, but prescription drugs, benzodiazepines, were dangerous. Addictive. He never wanted to become like the desperate crooks he saw on patrol, stealing from pharmacies and robbing stores to get drug money. He’d never be like them. 

He kept his promise for three days, this time. 

He messed with the dosage a little, seeing exactly how many milligrams of Klonopin he needed to get the perfect high. It was convenient that May worked so much, because it meant that she was never onto him. He had enough time to air out the apartment to conceal the smell of pot, and he had enough time to get his bearings whenever he was high before she came home, so she’d never notice. 

Even so, he felt so bad for lying to her. Not that he’d ever outright lied- she never asked him if he was on drugs- but he felt like he was lying simply by keeping this secret from her. 

So days passed and he budgeted the amount of Klonopin he would take to ensure he had enough to hold him over until Mr. Stark gave him more. He somehow ended up with cigarettes, weed, a vape pen, and Klonopin all hidden underneath his bed. It wasn’t a big deal though. Peter knew he could stop any time he wanted to. He still had his wits about him, and the drugs weren’t controlling him. They weren’t. 

They weren’t. 

He was in control. 

Total control. 

Well, he thought he was. That is, until he ran out of the Klonopin. 

He was still two weeks away from his refill date and he was completely out of it. His pot dealer was dry, and he was running out of money for his nicotine fix. Something had to give. He needed something, anything. He searched through May’s medicine cabinet. He found some oxycontin from when she had an appendectomy, but there were only two pills in the bottle, and he knew she’d notice if they were gone. The only other things he found were benadryl, ibuprofen, and dramamine. 

Peter groaned as he slammed the cabinet door shut, wall shaking with the force. He went back into his room and paced around, back and forth. He didn’t have the money or the means to find stuff off the street. Plus, that would just be wrong. He was Spider-man, he was supposed to put an end to drug deals and illegal activity, not participate in them. 

Letting himself fall backwards on the bed, Peter decided that he couldn’t go seeking the drugs. He had to wait the two weeks until something was available. 

So Peter waited. And waited, and waited, and found it impossible to sleep. His thoughts raced until his head pounded, and his hands shook from all of the adrenaline running through him at a constant rate. He couldn’t focus on anything, his brain kept coming up with ‘what if’ scenarios- what if May dies tonight on her way home from work? What if Tony is tracking his vitals through his suit and figures out that something’s up? What if everyone finds out he’s Spider-man somehow, and his life is never the same?

What if, what if, what if?

Peter was constantly on the verge of tears, always anxious, heart racing. Yet he was so tired, even though he couldn’t sleep, and when he did sleep he had nightmares. This was far worse than before he started smoking weed, taking Klonopin. His head hurt, he was exhausted and edgy and lashing out at people and crying all the time. It was two of the worst weeks of his life. 

When Mr. Stark finally handed him the next bottle, Peter tried not to snatch it too eagerly, tried to keep the crazed expression off of his face. He wasn’t sure if he succeeded, or if he was imagining the wary expression on Mr. Stark’s face. With a shaky breath, he shoved the pill bottle into his backpack and followed his mentor to the lab to do some work. 

When Peter got home that night, he grasped the bottle with shaking hands and fiddled with the lid. He finally got it off and took four pills in his hand, swallowing them dry. 

He knew they would take a little while to kick in, but he needed the high, and he needed it now. He slipped out another two pills and swallowed them as well, then lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. 

Once again, it took him a while to realize that the high had kicked in. When he finally allowed a pause in his racing thoughts, he realized that they hadn’t been racing at all. His brain was sluggish, and when he opened his eyes the floor was wavy once again, but this time things were outlined in vivid color. His mind was empty, his body was void of pain, there was only peace. He felt... euphoric. Like he was on top of the world. 

Peter slept better that night than he had in ages. He slept longer, too, through his alarm and right through first and second period. May was at work all morning, but when Peter woke up at one fifteen in the afternoon he saw sixteen missed calls from her. 

Still reeling from his grogginess, Peter jumped at the sound of banging on the front door. He tried to get out of bed and dizziness overtook him, sending him to the floor. The banging continued for about a minute before Peter heard the unmistakable sound of the door being kicked in. He scrambled to find his webshooters, nausea beginning to climb up his throat at the quick movement. 

“Pete?”

The boy aimed his webshooters at the figure in the doorway, hands shaking uncontrollably. His vision cleared and he saw Mr. Stark standing a few feet away from him, and Peter lowered his arms in relief. 

“May sent me,” Mr. Stark said. “Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“Sleepin’,” Peter said. 

“You sick? Is that why you’re not at school?”

“Uh- yeah, yeah,” he replied, beginning to nod his head but stopping when the room spun. 

Mr. Stark came forward and grabbed Peter by his armpits, helping him back onto his bed. The boy thanked him quietly, wiping at his eyes with his hands. 

“Peter, look at me,” Mr. Stark said. 

Peter did, and the man used a hand to tilt the boy’s chin up and look at his eyes. He bit his lip, and released Peter once he seemed satisfied. Mr. Stark walked around the room, analyzing the place. He sniffed the air and proceeded to look under papers on his desk, open his dresser drawers, and look around his bookcase. Peter put his head in his hands, a migraine rearing it’s head, and almost didn’t notice when Mr. Stark bent down to look under his bed. 

His reaction time was slow as Mr. Stark pulled out the shoebox and held it in front of him, looking to Peter, and back down to the box. The boy opened his mouth, then closed it, looking at the floor with a gulp. 

Mr. Stark opened the box. The box that held his cigarettes and lighter, his vape, his pipe that had the remnants of weed in it. Peter didn’t miss the look of anger that flashed across Mr. Stark’s face before another expression settled upon it. One that could only be described as fear as he looked at Peter’s nightstand. Peter followed his gaze and saw the bottle of Klonopin sitting upon it, cap off, more pills missing than Peter remembered taking. He had vague memories of waking up in distress during the night, only to dose himself with more Klonopin to send him right back to sleep, but he wasn’t sure if that was real or not until now. 

Mr. Stark placed the shoebox down on Peter’s desk stared at him wordlessly. The boy averted his gaze and the tension in the room thickened as time passed. 

Without speaking, the man grabbed Peter by the arm, wrenching him to a standing position. Peter flinched at the roughness, but ultimately gave in, letting Mr. Stark lead him down the hall and into the bathroom. The man stopped when they were both standing in front of the mirror, and Peter’s breath stuttered in his chest when his eyes met his reflection. 

His eyes were sunken, the look exaggerated by the dark circles around them. He was pale, he was so pale that he could go as a dead man for halloween and wouldn’t need any makeup. His jawline was sharp, and he caught a glimpse of his collarbone poking sharply against his skin at the edge of his shirt collar. He didn’t remember altering his food intake, or losing weight, but apparently he’d lost a lot. 

Peter looked at Mr. Stark in the mirror. The man’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were a bit glassy, as if he were holding back tears. Neither of them spoke for a long time, and the silence was deafening until Peter broke it. 

“I think,” he choked around the lump in his throat. “I think I have a problem.”

Mr. Stark gave a terse nod and Peter heard him gulp. 

“I think I need help,” Peter continued, voice wobbling uncontrollably. “Can you-“ His face crumpled. “Can you help me?”

“Yes,” Mr. Stark said, grabbing Peter’s shoulders and turning him around so they were face to face. The man looked into his eyes for a moment before pulling him into an almost painfully tight embrace. Peter sunk into the warmth and let himself cry. 

“I’m right here,” Mr. Stark whispered into Peter’s hair. “I’m right here.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT  
a few things about this universe, since i guess i should clarify some stuff since this is now a multi chapter:   
1\. civil war happened but somehow came to a conclusion and now all is well in the avengers household.  
2\. tony still owns the avengers tower in manhattan. purely for convenience sake.  
3\. peter’s experience is not universal, but purely based on my own. if you or anyone you know is struggling with substance abuse, please tell someone you can trust. help is out there <3  
(PS this is unedited so go easy on me lmao)

The rest of that day was filled with long silences and bouts of crying. Peter was still coming down from his high, so there were several moments when he escaped to the bathroom and sat on the floor to cry. He was sure that Mr. Stark could hear him, but the man never came to check on him. Once he was done, he’d go back into the living room and sit on the opposite side of the couch from Mr. Stark. 

It was around five in the afternoon when May came into the apartment. Her face fell when she saw the awkward tension, Peter’s teary face, how Mr. Stark’s jaw was clenched. 

“What’s going on,” she asked, placing down her purse, the bag of takeout on the kitchen table. 

No one answered for a moment, and she sat down across from the two. 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark prompted, motioning for him to speak. 

The boy cleared his throat. “May, uh... I have a problem...” He trailed off a moment, glancing at Mr. Stark’s still unreadable expression. 

“Well whatever it is, we can fix it,” May said. “Right? We’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah, uh... I have a d-drug problem.”

He whispered the last part so quietly that he wasn’t sure if May had heard it or not. He averted her gaze staring at the floor. After a moment of quiet, Peter looked back up and saw her eyes brimming with tears, filled with something between anger and shock and fear. Her gaze was so intense that it made Peter’s heart skip a beat, and her lips were pursed into a thin line, making her actually look her age. 

“How long,” she asked after composing herself. 

How long? Peter wasn’t sure. The first time he got high was several months ago, the first time he tried the Klonopin was a few months after that, and the first time he realized he was spiraling...

“A few months,” he said, because it wasn’t a lie in any capacity. Either way, the answer wasn’t enough. 

“I want dates,” May said, anger showing through her tone. 

“Uh- I- the beginning of the school year.”

She inhaled sharply. “Who are you getting it from?”

“Just some guys at school-“

“ _Names_ , Peter.”

“Uh- I- The- Seniors. I don’t know their names, we don’t even talk.”

“What is it?”

Peter hesitated. “Wee- Uh... Marijuana. Uh...” 

He trailed off. He spared a glance at Mr. Stark, who was staring expectant daggers at him, then redirected his gaze to the floor. He didn’t want to do it.

“The anxiety medicine I’ve been giving him,” Mr. Stark said. “Just gave it to him yesterday. There are already ten pills missing.”

A moment of silence, then May cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Peter repeated. 

“Okay,” May reiterated. “I just... I need to think.”

Peter nodded, stray tears falling from his eyelashes. “Okay,” he choked as she got up and walked to her room. 

Then, Peter and Mr. Stark were alone again. This tension, this emotion, this stress was exactly the kind of thing that made him want to get high. He turned to Mr. Stark, who had his chin resting on his hands and was staring straight ahead. His face was still blank, calm. Neither of them spoke, and Peter pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged them close. 

May didn’t come out for the rest of that evening. When Peter went to return to his room, Mr. Stark followed him there and basically tore the place apart, probably looking for other drugs. When he was satisfied in his finding that there wasn’t anymore, he allowed Peter to get ready for bed after snatching the Klonopin from his bedside table, throwing it in the shoebox, and taking the whole thing with him. 

He didn’t sleep. He couldn’t get the blank, exhausted look on Mr. Stark’s face out of his mind. The way May’s voice was laced with an anger he’d never heard before. The disappointment radiating off of the both of them. 

Peter must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because when he woke up it was to a loud banging on his door. Jumping awake, he stumbled to the door and opened it, finding his mentor standing in the hallway, hand poised to continue knocking. 

“Get dressed,” Mr. Stark said. “Breakfast will be ready in fifteen.”

“Where’s May?”

“She left for work already.”

The statement sent a crushing feeling through Peter’s chest, but he nodded and closed his door all the same. Once dressed, he sulked out to the kitchen to get breakfast and was met with the aroma of fried eggs and bacon and toast. He sat down at the table and picked at his food, unable to eat much due to the anxiety situated in his stomach like a rock. 

“What are we doing today,” Peter asked. 

“You’re coming with me to SI because I have an important meeting and you need to be watched.”

The boy scowled. “I don’t need to be babysat.”

Mr. Stark raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you?”

Rendered silent, Peter looked down and scowled at his bacon. 

That day was boring. May never texted him. He had to sit outside conference rooms while Mr. Stark attended meeting after meeting. Happy didn’t make any sarcastic quips at him in the car. 

When the afternoon hit, Mr. Stark brought Peter up to his penthouse for lunch. Peter once again picked at his food while his mentor’s scrutinizing eyes stared him down. 

“Were you ever in the suit while you were high?”

Peter froze. He never put the suit on when he was in the most intense part of a high. That would be as dangerous as driving under the influence. Though he couldn’t say he was never high in the suit, because, well, when wasn’t he high at this point?

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Mr. Stark said. “You do realize that I’m going to need the suit back, right?”

Peter nodded, a lump forming in his throat. 

“Just... Pete...” Mr. Stark hesitated. “What were you thinking?”

“I-I...” The boy sniffed. “Uh, I just wanted to... Not feel anything, I guess. And it helped.”

“Why didn’t you come to me?”

The man sounded hurt. Betrayed. Peter never wanted to make him feel that way.

“Honestly,” Peter began. “I never even realized that it had gotten out of control.”

Mr. Stark stood from his chair and walked to a table next to the L shaped sectional. He opened its drawer and dug through it until he found what he wanted. When he did, he closed the drawer and walked back over to the table, then placed something down in front of Peter. It was a coin. A gold one, with words etched into it. ‘One day at a time’ was carved in a ring on the outline of the coin, and an ‘X’ was in the center. 

“That’s my ten year chip,” Mr. Stark said. Peter was silent then, staring at the coin with fear and apprehension. The man rested his elbows on the table and leaned in towards Peter and continued. “Do you want to get better, Peter?”

Did he? That was a loaded question. On one hand, the loss of control was terrifying. He’d always thought he had one hand on the wheel, but now he realized that he’d been tied up and thrown in the trunk while his addiction took control. On the other hand, he loved it. It was sick to think about, but he loved everything about it- the risk, the numbness, the release, the self destruction of it all. He _welcomed_ it. 

So Peter didn’t say a word.

“I can only help you if you’re going to let me,” Mr. Stark said. 

Peter sniffed hard, rubbing his tear filled eyes. “I know,” he whispered. 

“Will you let me?”

The boy hesitated, then nodded. 

-

It was about a week later that Peter got his first relapse in. 

He went to his normal dealers and asked if they had Xanax or Klonopin or anything of the sort. They did. He gave them as much money as he could spare at the moment, and was given four pills. 

Apparently, Xanax was different from Klonopin. The high was much shorter, but a bit more intense. He took all four and by some miracle it gave him a couple hours of a high, surprising with his enhanced metabolism. 

In the time that followed, Peter had never hated himself more. May had just started looking him in the eye again. He was working so hard to gain their trust back and he blew it so soon. 

Of course, he didn’t have the chance to hide it from them because Mr. Stark did daily urine checks. When the man showed up at their apartment, a cup in his hand, Peter fell apart. 

“I’m sorry,” he cried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

He ended up sat on the couch between them, May hugging him tight while he sobbed and Mr. Stark placing a comforting hand on his back. 

“I’ll go search the bedroom,” Mr. Stark muttered. 

While he did so, Peter continued to bury his face in May’s shirt, arms wrapped around her waist while she silently held onto him. They listened to Mr. Stark tearing the room apart until he was satisfied, only looking up when he emerged. 

After that, Mr. Stark suggested that he start seeing a therapist. He reluctantly agreed and the next day he was brought to the Avengers Tower and was introduced to Sam Wilson. 

“Falcon, right?” Peter asked. 

The man smiled. “Yeah. Surprised you know me, no one ever seems to.”

“You guys get to it,” Mr. Stark said, patting them both on the shoulder and retreating into his office. 

Mr. Wilson led Peter down a hall and into an office. The office had a desk in the corner, and it had couches and beanbag chairs and board games scattered around it. Peter stared at it in awe that only increased when the door closed, blocking out all of the sound from outside. 

“Sit,” Mr. Wilson said, motioning to a beanbag. The man moved towards the desk, then opened a mini fridge. “Want anything to drink? Coke, apple juice-“

“Apple juice,” Peter requested. “Please.”

Mr. Wilson grabbed an apple juice for Peter and a coke for himself and sat down on a beanbag chair across from the boy. 

“Tell me about yourself,” the man said. Peter hesitated, reluctant to soil their relationship so early on with talk of his drug use. “Doesn’t have to be the reason you’re here,” Mr. Wilson clarified, as if reading Peter’s mind. “Just tell me what you like to do for fun. Tell me about your family.”

“I, uh... I like St-Star Wars?”

Mr. Wilson smiled. “Yeah? What else?”

“Uh... I’m on the Academic Decathlon team at school.”

“So you’re a smart guy, then,” Mr. Wilson mused as he took a drink. “Can’t relate.” Peter chuckled nervously and the man spoke again. “How about your family? Your mom and dad?”

“Oh, uh... My parents died when I was a kid. I was adopted by my aunt and uncle, but then my uncle died a couple years ago.”

Any trace of humor on Mr. Wilson’s face was gone. “I’m sorry, kid. Sounds like an awful lot to go through at such a young age.”

“I-I guess,” Peter squeaked nervously, sipping at his juice. 

“You want to play a game? I’ve got tons of shit here. You can pick whatever you want.”

Peter’s eyes scanned the room until they locked onto a tub full of small Legos. He stood and walked over to pick them up. They didn’t belong to any specific set, which made things even more exciting because they could make whatever they wanted. 

He brought them back over and the two built random structures for the remainder of their hour together. Small talk was exchanged and jokes were told. All in all, it was a far less stressful situation than Peter had been expecting. 

At the end of it all, May came and picked him up from the Tower, a hopeful smile on her face. 

“How did it go?”

Peter situated himself in the front seat. “Really... Really good,” he said. “Yeah. I think it went good.”

The shining smile that he was met with gave him more peace than he’d felt in a long time. Peter decided that he’d trade any high to make someone smile like that again, any day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was planning on doing whumptober and i actually posted for day one but then i got super sick and literally couldn’t think or be coherent at all for a few days so i kinda gave up lmao but i managed to finish this though  
let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, so trigger warning for relapse and drug withdrawal and all that shit. this one is kinda intense, idk. please let me know what you think :)

Things were good for a little while. In fact, they were better than good. Peter got his grades back up (grades that he hadn’t even noticed had gotten so low). He gained back some of the weight he lost. He was repairing his relationships with May and Tony. Things were still rocky at times, but overall things were looking up. 

Then things went wrong. 

It was the week from Hell- May had to pick up extra hours to cover for a coworker, Tony was away in DC for work, it was the week of Midterms, and Flash must’ve swallowed an ‘asshole’ pill because _holy shit_ he was being a nightmare. Either way, it only took a few moments of weakness to ruin three months of hard work. 

The downhill spiral was so quick. It was as if Peter was sober one minute and swallowing all kinds of pills the next. He started using again, but with a purpose. He created a stash of clean urine for their now bi-weekly checks. He carved out a textbook to store his drugs. He used lunch money and internship money alike to buy anything he could get his hands on. 

This wasn’t just a relapse. It was the beginning of a fatal deterioration. 

Peter graduated from Xanax to MDMA in record time. Then from Molly to an assortment of different opiates. He once again started needing larger and larger doses to get a suitable high almost every day. At first he promised himself that he’d stop once exams were over. The highs gave him the energy to pull all-nighters and study as much as he needed, but after this week he wouldn’t need that anymore.

But exams came and went. And Peter didn’t stop. He didn’t _want_ to stop. After a while he didn’t even feel guilty. The lies just slipped off his lips with ease. 

One day, Peter had just gotten home from school when he noticed something was off. May wasn’t supposed to be home yet, but her purse was sat on the kitchen table. The boy put down his backpack and shoved his shaking hands into his pockets, panic coursing through his veins. 

“Peter?” May’s voice called to him from down the hallway and the tone of it sent a jolt of unease up the teenager’s spine. He followed the sound of her voice into his bedroom. 

There his aunt sat, on the floor, holding his textbook that was carved out to fit all the drugs he had. Powder in small bags, unmarked pill bottles, a couple cups of clean urine he had left. Peter felt himself blanch and saw that she was just as pale, but her cheeks quickly flushed with anger as she threw the book to the ground, its contents scattering. 

“What the _fuck_, Peter?” She stood, approaching him, and the boy took a step back. “What- Just- I can’t _believe_ this.” 

Peter spoke up in a soft voice. “P-Please don’t tell To-“

May let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, he’s already on his way.” She turned away from him, fisting her hands in her hair and pulling in exasperation. “I’m sick of the _bullshit_, Peter! I-I mean- I thought we were doing good. I thought you were doing better, and you just-“

There was a knock at the front door and May turned back around, and Peter could see tears in her eyes. She brushed past him to get to the door. Peter felt his eyes burn with tears as he followed her out to the living room. Tony entered the apartment, jaw set and eyes filled with intensity.

“Mr. Stark-“ Peter tried, but the man cut him off. 

“Stop,” he said. “Stop. Just-“ He cut himself off and ran a hand through his hair, then turned to May. “Show me.”

Peter loosely followed them back to his room and watched Mr. Stark analyze his contraband. The billionaire held up a bag of powder and looked at Peter, eyebrow raised. “Molly?” 

The boy nodded, averting Tony’s disappointed eyes. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tony,” May said, and Peter looked up at her in horror as she continued. “I can’t watch him twenty-four-seven, I can’t keep him safe.”

Peter suppressed a sob as Tony stood. 

“Okay,” the man said, wiping a hand down his face. “Okay, let’s...” He paused, looking up in thought. With a sigh, Mr. Stark walked over to Peter’s closet and grabbed a duffel bag. “Pack up. You’re gonna come stay with me.”

Peter felt his heart skip a beat. “I- What? _May_!”

“Peter,” she said. “I can’t- I can’t _help you._ I’ve tried, I just- I can’t. You’re safer with Tony.”

“But I- I-“ Peter cut himself off, biting his wobbling lower lip so hard he tasted blood. With tears running down his face, Peter grabbed the bag from Mr. Stark and started packing. Glancing over his shoulder at May, all he could see was the betrayal in her eyes, the sadness, something he put there himself. 

Once he was packed, May hugged Peter tightly before he walked out the door. The boy paused in the hallway and looked back, only to catch the apartment door closing in front of him. 

-

They started the detox immediately. 

Within the next day Peter was laying in a locked room of the medbay, positively _writhing_ on the bed. Mr. Stark said the intensity of the withdrawal was probably due to his enhancements but that didn’t make it any better. 

By day three, it felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. His stomach was doing flips and his limbs shook with such a ferocity that it scared him. Every once in a while bile would creep its way up his throat and Tony would hold him upright as he expelled everything in his stomach. 

“‘M dyin’,” Peter slurred. 

“You’re not,” Tony said, brushing his bangs off his sweaty forehead. 

“_Please_, Tony, I- I-“ He was cut off by more retching.

His head ached, his whole body ached, and the tremors wouldn’t stop and Peter was dying, he was sure of it. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t, he needed it, please, please, please. 

“You don’t need it,” Tony said in a firm voice. “You don’t.”

Peter vomited again. And again, and again, until his intestines were squeezed dry. He let out a wail, loud and drawn out, and Tony held onto him tighter.

Time started to pass in waves. Fast, slow, fast, slow, fast, slow. Peter wasn’t sure how much time passed before his brain started to clear up. Clarity was a strange sensation after living in such a thick, foggy haze for so long. Peter almost couldn’t remember what it was like to be sober. If this was it, he didn’t like it. Peter’s head throbbed as he slowly entered consciousness. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his eyes before finally opening them. 

“You with me?”

Peter looked to his right and saw Tony sitting next to his bed, and nodded slowly. He rolled onto his side so he was facing his mentor and brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his aching stomach. He could still feel tremors wracking his body, but they were lesser than before, and an IV was taped against his wrist. 

Tony reached forward and placed the back of his hand on the boy’s forehead. “Fever‘s gone down, which is a good sign. This might be over soon.”

Peter wasn’t sure why the statement filled him with anger, but it did. “Over soon?” He pushed himself up so that he was sitting upright and ripped out his IV. Despite Tony’s halfhearted protests, he stood, ignoring the spinning it caused in his head. “_Over soon_? This- this is never gonna be over, Tony.”

The billionaire stood. “Peter-“ 

“No,” the boy said, approaching him and poking a finger in his chest. “This isn’t gonna _end_. I don’t- I don’t wanna- Unlock the door and let me leave.”

“This is for your own good, Peter,” Tony said, placing his hands on the teen’s shoulders. 

“No!” In an angry haze, Peter grabbed the man’s shirt collar and slammed him against the wall behind him. “Let me out!”

“Peter-“

“Let me the fuck _out of here_!”

“Peter, come on-“

“Fuck you!” Peter felt hands grabbing at him and resisted when they tried to pull him away. “_Fuck you!_ I hate you, I hate this, I _hate_ you!”

Peter gasped when strong arms grabbed him from behind, wrapping across his small frame and pulling him off of the billionaire. He looked over his shoulder and saw Captain Rogers holding him. 

“It’s okay, Peter,” the captain said. “Just calm down.”

The boy struggled for another moment before realizing that there was no way he was getting out of Captain America’s grasp. The realization came with a sob, which came with another, and another. Soon, Peter’s legs gave out and he and Captain Rogers were sitting on the ground, the latter holding the former in a hug. 

God, what the hell was he doing? He just _attacked_ Mr. Stark. He could’ve _killed_ him. He was crying into Captain America’s shoulder right now, letting out wail after ugly wail, and now Mr. Stark was getting on the floor to hug him too. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter sobbed as his mentor took him from Captain Rogers’ lap and into his own. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t hate you, I-“

“Shh,” Tony hushed. “Shh, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not_,” Peter yelled, burying his face deeper in the man’s shirt. “I almost hurt you, I- I- _God_!” The boy let out an anguished groan. “You- You should j-just give up on m-me.”

“Peter.” Tony’s voice was stern and he pushed the boy away from his chest so they could look each other in the eye. “I will never _ever_ give up on you. You hear me?”

“But I can’t do it,” Peter said quietly. “I can’t do this anymore, Tony. Just let me die.”

“You can do this,” Tony promised. “I’m right here. I’m going to help you. This isn’t the end.”

Peter strongly doubted that, but decided to hold his tongue in favor of crying quietly instead. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for a reference to attempted suicide!!! super brief but still there.

Recovery was hard. The withdrawal nearly killed Peter and the cravings were just as bad. Therapy was intensive and took place every day. At first Peter refused for talk. Mr. Wilson would sit by his bed and Peter would pull the blankets over his head until their hour was up and the man left. The boy could hear him talking to Mr. Stark in the hallway outside his room. 

“How’d it go,” Mr. Stark asked. 

“He’s still not working with me,” Mr. Wilson replied, sounding discouraged after their fourth session of one-way conversation. “But it’s still early.”

Peter listened to Mr. Stark sigh heavily after that, then tuned out their voices. He didn’t want to listen to any of it anymore. He didn’t want to do anything at all- not eat or drink or bathe or anything. Peter was ready to roll over and die- but he gradually came to realize that this simply wasn’t an option. No matter how much he wanted to, Mr. Stark wouldn’t let him. Won’t eat? Give him a feeding tube. Won’t drink? Keep up with those IV fluids. Tried to drown in his en-suite bathtub? Okay then, supervised showers only. 

It was on a Tuesday that May came to visit for the first time. She walked in after Peter had another one of his signature meltdowns and was sulking in bed. He didn’t need to look at her to know who it was. 

“What’re you doing here,” Peter asked, not even rolling over to face her. 

“I just wanted to see how my favorite boy in the world was doing,” she replied. 

“I thought you said you were sick of my bullshit.” Judging by the long silence that ensued, Peter knew the comment cut deep. He didn’t _want_ to hurt her, not more than he already had. He rolled over to face her and saw her eyes filled with tears under her glasses. “I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up and placing a hand on one of hers. “I-I don’t know why I said that. I just-“

“You’re angry,” May cut him off. “You’re angry, and that’s okay. I was wrong. I-“ She paused, face crumpling as tears started to fall. “I never meant to make you think I gave up on you, baby. I was just- scared.”

Peter pulled her onto the bed so that she was sitting next to him and threw himself against her, hugging her tight. She hugged him back as she continued. 

“Your parents- they trusted me and Ben to protect you, and I-“ She sobbed. “I’ve failed royally.”

“Don’t say that,” Peter begged softly into the silk of her blouse. “You did your best. You- You still do your best. I haven’t made any of this easy for you. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey,” May replied. After a moment she pulled away from the hug and looked at his face, cupping his left cheek in one hand. “How are you feeling? You look better.”

“I, uh,” he began, eyes trained on his lap. “I’m okay. The cravings are- intense.“ He let out a humorless laugh. “It makes me feel like I’m going crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” May said, pulling him close again. “It’ll get better.”

Peter didn’t reply. With his aunt holding him like this, he felt safe, loved- hopeful. But in the throes of a meltdown, or a particularly intense wave of cravings, it was easy to think that it would never get better. 

May cleared her throat. “How’s therapy?” Once again, Peter was rendered silent. He felt himself stiffen and May must’ve felt it, too, because suddenly she was pulling away from the embrace once again. “Pete?”

The boy shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. “I- I haven’t exactly been... The most cooperative.”

The woman sighed. “Talking is good for you, honey.”

“I know,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry-“

“Just listen to me for a second,” she interrupted. Peter met her eyes. “There’s no running away from this, okay? The only way out is through.”

“The only way out is through,” Peter repeated. 

So that became his mantra over the coming weeks. The next day, when Mr. Wilson entered the room and tried to talk to him and found him actually cooperating for once, he asked what changed. 

“The only way out is through,” Peter replied with a shrug. 

It became something everyone picked up on. When Peter would refuse to eat, Tony would grab his hand and say the words. When he’d be in the middle of a mood swing and Steve would have to restrain him until he calmed down, the man would whisper it into his ear, over and over, until he started repeating it back. 

Over time, Peter started to get better. His mood stabilized. The cravings were less intense and less frequent. He went from having daily therapy to twice a week, to once a week. 

Finally, on a hot June day, Peter went home. 

Tony was by his side when he approached the apartment door and knocked, hearing the unmistakable sound of May’s hurried footsteps approaching the door. She opened it and immediately pulled Peter forward in a bone crushing hug, smiling wide. Once inside, Ned and MJ’s voices yelled from the living room. 

“Surprise!”

Ned and MJ were standing near the TV, which was paused on the well known “LucasFilm LTD” logo. Ned’s hands were up in excitement while MJ stood to the side, holding a bowl of chips, but anxious smiles rested on both of their faces. Food was laid out across the kitchen counter and there were balloons around the room. There was a beat of shocked silence before a smile erupted on Peter’s face and he let out a laugh, running toward Ned and MJ and collecting them both in an embrace. 

“We missed you so much,” Ned said tearfully. 

“I missed you guys too,” Peter replied.

“You know,” MJ said, clearing her throat awkwardly but unable to conceal the slight wobble in her voice. “We’re here for you. Like when you’re struggling with... stuff. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, feeling a lump situate in his throat as he looked at his friends’ worried faces. “I know. I’m- I should’ve talked to you guys. I’m sorry.”

They hugged again and the three stayed that way for a long time before May spoke up from behind them, causing them to lift their heads. 

“How about a movie,” she suggested. 

Peter nodded and all five of them piled on the couch, huddling close. Tony put his arm around Peter while MJ rested her head on the boy’s shoulder. He was with his favorite people in the world. 

Suddenly, Peter realized that no high had ever felt as satisfying as this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m going to be honest: i don’t like this chapter. it feels rushed and thrown together but here it is anyway, and i hope it provides some sort of resolution for you guys. remember that if you or anyone you know is struggling with addiction, please reach out for help. there’s help out there, no one is too far gone. please stay safe <3

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if you want this to be a multi chapter and i might do it


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